life, in no particular order

To pay tribute to the impending two seasons of moth reincarnation, I’ve written a little monologue, or moth-ologue for lack of better terminology. Call me mad or ludicrous; for this I know. A phobia is an irrational fear.

Diatribe Against a Moth

We can’t do this anymore; I hope you know that. We’re no longer healthy for one another, unless thriving on fear is a newfound blessing. Here’s the problem—you don’t belong here—never have. It’s my personal opinion that you belong on the moon, but your movements are too blind and haphazard to ever achieve such a journey. You must maintain your distance, as do I. Though, you’re sneaky, conniving, and even somewhat graceful as you weave your way through the sheer curtain folds and quilted squares of my crimson red comforter. You blend too well. Your stagnancy forces an adrenaline-induced determination into me; your activity paralyzes me with a child-like terror. What exactly do you want from me?

Wouldn’t it be nice to wipe out these awkward, winged things in one fell swoop? It would be my dream come true. But, we all must learn to cope with what is in this life, I suppose. I’ll try to remember this bit of wisdom:

“Fear is an acronym in the English language for ‘False Evidence Appearing Real’.” ~Neale Donald Walsch